


New Thoughts

by fawatson



Series: ITOWverse:  Autumn Holidays 2010 [14]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Gen, Guy Fawkes Night, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-27 15:25:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6289834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alec, who had been on duty at the hospital on Bonfire Night, visits the Clubhouse the following day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Thoughts

Alec had rather wondered how they would manage fireworks, given the war.  After all, anything remotely incendiary these days went to make arms and ammunition.  He needn’t have worried though, he realised, as the house had provided. 

Sadly he hadn’t managed to attend.  He’d planned to go, of course, but his shift at the hospital had finished late because of a sudden influx of casualties in an air raid.  A tricky bit of surgery had meant he hadn’t even had the opportunity to ‘turn a corner’, so to speak, taking advantage of the flexibility of the clubhouse world to join the celebrations even briefly.  No matter:  he’d come home to find two sausage rolls, a bottle of beer, plus some lovely toffee waiting on the table.  (He hadn’t seen treacle toffee since before the war).  The treats rested on a copy of the _Renault Times_ , thoughtfully left by Sandy before he had gone off for his shift.  Alec had settled down in an armchair to read all about it, while munching on the nice meaty pastries, before making his exhausted way to bed for a well-deserved rest. 

He had some free time the next morning, so, curiosity getting the better of him, whisked himself off.  A steady drizzle was doing its best to extinguish the remnants of last night’s bonfire, so he quickly abandoned the scene of the celebrations in search of company.  He ignored the small group of armoured men clustered around Alexander on the patio; minor explosions told him sufficient about what _they_ were doing to know he wanted no part of _that_.  Instead he pushed open the front door.  He could hear the chatter of female voices emanating from the kitchen, shuddered slightly, and headed in the opposite direction.  Clear-up must still be going on; and being surrounded by a bevy of middle-aged housekeepers, all eagerly looking for an extra pair of hands to dry dishes, was definitely not the kind of company he was after. 

Alec found the Secretary in the reading room, curled up in a rocking chair, book on lap. 

“Which one?” he enquired politely, not recognising the cover. 

She blushed, hastily closing the thick volume, and tucking it out of sight between cushion and frame of the chair.  “Oh, nothing much,” she said, “just something from another community I once knew.”

“May I see?” asked Alec.  He smiled at the fanciful picture of strangely costumed people dancing round a fire, on the cover of the book she handed across.  “Another childhood memory?”

“Childhood?” She was a little puzzled for a moment, then realised.  “No, no—Tolkien wrote for adults; it’s a sort of fairytale for grown-ups.  You wouldn’t be familiar; it was published after your time.”

“Oh,” said Alec, a little nonplussed to realise the Secretary might have other interests than his own community—and not a little puzzled, “I just thought last night brought back more happy childhood memories.” 

“Childhood memories?”  Now it was the Secretary’s turn to be puzzled. 

“Of Bonfire Night.” 

“Oh!”  The Secretary’s surprise was obvious.  “But that’s not one of _my_ childhood memories,” she remarked, “though after last night I can quite see why the Modern characters enjoy it.  I read about it in history books, of course—well, not the party last night; I mean the attempt to blow up Parliament.  After all, ‘no taxation without representation’, and all that.  Our history books didn’t concentrate on it; they gave a lot more space to the Revolution.  But the Gunpowder Plot was mentioned in the school book’s footnotes.” 

“Oh....”  Alec was at a loss for what to say.  Of course the characters had enjoyed the Guy Fawkes celebrations; but they had really meant them as a special treat for _her_.  The Secretary did so much for the community. 

Excusing himself politely, Alec left the library and crossed to the back porch, where he soon found himself, to his surprise, in deep conversation with Olive and Lucy.  They were two people he usually avoided; but about this particular matter, he found they had much to say.  And, as they explained, he found their perspective surprisingly sensible. 

“You see _I_ don’t think her sadness at Halloween was about childhood memories, particularly,” said Lucy, “but about _home_.”

“Home....”  Alec was clearly doing his best to understand. 

“It’s the difference between being a man and being a woman.  That’s where Kalanos went wrong, you see—well that, and because he’s a philosopher.”

“A philosopher....”  Alec really couldn’t see what difference that made. 

“I’m sure he’s very good at thinking deep thoughts,” said Lucy (she managed to sound both dismissive and patronising simultaneously); “but I don’t think he’s much good at practical matters.  He assumed she was just remembering her childhood—”

“But that’s what she _said_ ,” protested Alec, “at least I think she did.”  He accepted that he personally had not heard anything, just heard from someone else, who, he realised as he thought a bit longer, had heard from another....  Hmm....  He remembered those games of broken telephone they’d played in school when he was a kid.  Perhaps someone had misunderstood. 

“ _I_ think she was homesick—and Olive agrees with me, don’t you Olive.” 

Olive nodded vigorously, “I know I would be, if I had to stay here all the time.  Not that I don’t enjoy my visits here,” she rushed to add.  “People always make me feel so welcome, of course, despite what a minor character I am, and I always try to help out in my own small way.”  She was clearly anxious lest anyone think her ungrateful.  “But it isn’t _home_.  We all can come and go as we choose, except her.  She’s stuck here day in, day out.” 

“Oh,” said Alec.  It was clearly a new thought.


End file.
